


Tuuri's Choice

by lwise2019



Series: Mikkel's Story [44]
Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 09:08:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23968873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lwise2019/pseuds/lwise2019
Series: Mikkel's Story [44]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536739
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	Tuuri's Choice

Tuuri was outside, Mikkel saw with some alarm, without even the kitten, which when last seen had been in the back compartment with her. She should have called for an escort … He was on his feet, about to go to her, when he saw that she was merely going to speak to her cousin. That was safe enough, surely, he thought as he sat back down, since Lalli would be scanning his surroundings for grosslings at all times. The two Finns spoke quietly for several minutes and then Tuuri returned to the tank, Mikkel watching closely until she disappeared around the back of the tank. If she wished to visit the latrine, he expected that she would call for an escort, but she did not, and he supposed that she had returned to her task, sorting books.

He returned to his own task, studying the wheelbarrow thoughtfully and considering weights and volumes. He knew what he had planned to take, but as the wheelbarrow was somewhat larger than expected, he could take more. More books, of course, but perhaps the team would be more comfortable if he brought along the pillows; they were rather thin and he could pack them tightly …

His thoughts were interrupted as Lalli abruptly leapt to his feet, ran behind the tank, ran back, shouted something urgent to them, turned, raced away. All three were on their feet and running after him at once, Mikkel pausing only to shout at Reynir, “Close the door!” And then he was behind the tank and saw two sets of running footprints, leading away … and a discarded mask.

Mikkel stumbled in his horror, recovered. The others had not seen the mask … They were all chasing after Lalli, who was far outpacing them, but even when they lost sight of him, they had no trouble following the footprints. They had not far to go.

The sea was ahead of them.

Lalli knelt helplessly on the shore. Out in the waves, Mikkel could see something white. Something that did not belong in the sea. He could not swim, nor could Emil. In fact, only Sigrun could … 

He turned just too late to stop her from sprinting into the water.

“Stop! Don't! What –!” Words failed him as he ran in after her. He was waist-deep in the freezing water when she, a far better swimmer than he'd expected, swam back toward him, towing the limp body behind her.

She was trying to get to her feet in the rough waves when he reached her, pulled her to him with one arm, pulled her burden to him with the other. Slogging back to the shore, carrying one woman and mostly carrying the other, he saw both Emil and Lalli on their feet, starting into the water.

“Stay out! Emil, keep him out!” He didn't need two more hypothermia cases.

“Mikkel, hurry! Maybe there's still time! Hurry!”

Hurry? What hurry was there? His thoughts seemed to be coming slowly, struggling to grasp the meaning … oh. Drowning victims could sometimes be revived, if they were treated quickly enough. And if they drowned in icy water, then there was more time.

He did not look down at his burden. He knew what he would see, and he did not want that image to follow him down through the years. There was only one explanation for Tuuri's actions, and he would not allow her choice to be taken away. “No,” he said flatly.

“But … but …”

And then Mikkel was on the shore and Lalli was pulling Tuuri away from him, cradling his cousin in his arms with surprising strength, running away. “Go with him, Emil. Make sure he gets back.” Emil ran.

Mikkel was supporting nearly all of Sigrun's weight now, and her head was lolling forward. Hypothermia, then, and soaked to the skin himself, he wasn't much better. _Forget dignity!_

He scooped her up, cradling her in his own arms, and ran, stumbling a little, wavering back and forth a little, but warming and reviving himself by the exertion. It was a measure of the effects of the icy water that it took her some time to object. “Put me down!”

“No. Be still.”

“You can't –!”

“Do you think … this is the first time … I've carried … a wounded comrade? … At least … we're not … being chased …”

Then they were back at the tank and Emil was pulling the door open for them. Reynir was on his feet, alarmed, bewildered, the tent spread out on the floor in front of him. “Radio. Close door.” The Icelander got the message and was out of the way before Mikkel set down his charge. Behind him, the door of the tank closed with a reassuring thud.

Mikkel knelt, pulled off Sigrun's boots, gloves, jacket, and was working on her outer trousers when she revived enough to push him away. “I'll do it.”

“Good.” He turned away, fetching her change of clothes from a cabinet along with a couple of towels and dropping them beside her. “Take them all off, dry off, dress in these.” He stood with his back turned, listening. If she stopped, he would have to finish the job despite his reluctance. Though he had undressed injured patients before, more than once, they had all been men. Also, in those cases, he had generally cut their clothes away, but with no spare clothing …

He began to shiver as adrenaline and exertion wore off. He would have to change too, and quickly, but Sigrun came first. She seemed to take much too long but actually worked rather quickly despite her hands, clumsy with cold.

“Done,” she said weakly, and he turned back. For a moment he thought to carry her, but – no, he would not offend her again. He pulled her arm over his broad shoulders, held her tight with an arm around her waist, and half carried her from the tank to the campfire. There were camp stools set up for both of them, and as soon as Mikkel had settled the woman, Emil was folding her hands around a mug.

“What's that stuff?” Mikkel asked, making a conscious effort to keep his teeth from chattering.

“Warm water. One for you too.” Mikkel accepted it, drained it quickly, and returned to the tank. He could trust the Swede to watch over her, and he had to dry off and change before he too became a patient.

* * *

While Mikkel and Sigrun thawed, Emil took charge, bringing Reynir out of the tank, pushing him onto a camp stool, and ordering him, “Tend the fire!”, backing up the command by pointing to the firewood and the fire itself. That taken care of, he rigged a clothesline near the fire and hung up all the soggy clothes. With the tank inoperable, there was no other way to dry them.

Reynir turned to study Lalli for a long moment. The Finn was kneeling, holding his cousin close and crooning something. Turning back, glancing back and forth between his bedraggled elders, the Icelander asked quietly, “This was not an accident, was it?”

“No,” Mikkel answered equally quietly. He had no desire to explain, and anyway the other appeared to have worked it out himself.

“Odinn and Freyja,” Reynir said very softly, “Tuuri …” He stumbled over the name and continued in a voice choked with unshed tears. “My sister Tuuri could not fight but she came to the battlefield, this battlefield, full willingly. She was struck down by the monstrous enemy and fell … and fell defending us, defending _me_ in the only way she could. I ask nothing for myself, but I beg you to welcome my sister to Valhalla.”

Mikkel said nothing, wishing that he believed in gods, wishing prayers would console him. And so they sat in silence while Emil, the only immune left on his feet, patrolled with the kitten on his shoulder.

After a while, Mikkel roused himself to say, “Do you know anything about Finnish funeral customs?”

“Uh, me?” Reynir gave him a puzzled look. “No, I don't know anything at all about the Finns.”

“We have to do something. We can't just walk off …”

“Oh … I … well, I have an idea. Lalli drew a picture of what he wanted me to do. I could draw a picture – pictures, I mean – and if I got it right, then he could just point at what he wanted. Or, you know, if I didn't, he could draw his own.”

“That's … a really good idea. Go draw … hmm … a grave, a pyre, and a cairn. If he doesn't want any of those, at least he'll have an idea of what we want to know.”

The other was on his feet and running back to the tank almost before he finished. Mikkel shook his head, feeling very old and very, very tired.

Lalli tried to wave Reynir away, but the Icelander was persistent, holding the drawings before him one after another until he reluctantly reached forward, pointing first to the pyre and then to the cairn.

“Well, now we know,” Mikkel told Emil heavily. “Start gathering wood for the pyre. I'll gather stones.” He forced himself to his feet by sheer will. _The exertion will warm me up. This has to be done. And then we'll need to set watches …_ Already his mind was working more quickly, turning to planning. They would need to set watches for the night, and that would probably mean just him and Emil. And then there was the packing to finish because they couldn't stay …

* * *

The pyre burned all night, much hotter than mere wood since Emil had used his incendiaries with a liberal hand, with Lalli sitting by it through the long night, watching over it. By morning, the fire had burned down sufficiently for them to lay the gathered stones over it, Lalli and Emil handling the smaller stones and Mikkel the larger. Sigrun watched silently; Reynir, overcome with grief, remained inside cuddling the kitten. When the cairn was complete, Lalli turned away and ran off into the forest. The other three stood gazing at the cairn, unable to proceed and yet knowing they could not stay.

At last Sigrun, captain of the team, broke the spell. “We need to go. We can't spend another night sitting like troll snacks over here.” Looking around, she spotted Lalli in the woods, kneeling with his face pressed against a tree. “Lalli! Come on!”

He waved a hand in dismissal, made no move to rise.

Sigrun stared for a moment in disbelief. “ _ **Lalli!**_ ” she shouted with remarkable volume.

“G – go!” He managed in Swedish.

The other three looked at each other uncertainly. “I think …” Emil ventured, “he's trying to tell us to go without him.”

“Thank you, I understand _words!_ ” Sigrun snapped. “It's not happening! I'm not leaving anyone to his own devices, especially not a scout I can't even _communicate_ with! Mikkel,” she added, “go fetch him.”

“I _am_ sorry,” Mikkel said gently, “but you have to come with us.” He offered his hand to help the other to his feet, but the little scout slapped it away and ran off a dozen meters or so, stopping to raise his fists as if challenging the big Dane, and shouting something in Finnish, ending with sorrowful tones.

Mikkel did his best to adopt a non-threatening posture, patting the air soothingly, while the other two caught up.

“I bet he's still not happy with the burial ritual,” Sigrun said in some frustration. “I've seen mages be _very_ specific about these things before. Emil, you talk to him and figure out what more he needs.”

“Uh … I think you're over-estimating my language skills here …”

Lalli stood staring at them in helpless grief. He could understand nothing they said but he clearly wanted _something_. Mikkel tried to think how to handle the situation while Sigrun continued to instruct Emil.

“Fine! Then how about you let him know that if he won't cooperate we'll tie him to the wheelbarrow!”

“I can _barely_ say 'good day'! How did you think I'd ever get _that_ across?”

Mikkel studied the forlorn Finn. He didn't seem to want _them_ to do anything; indeed if anything he seemed to want them to go away and leave him. But surely he didn't intend to stay in the Silent World by himself! Maybe he just needed a little time … _Now there's a thought!_

Mikkel pulled his ancient watch from his deepest, most waterproof, pocket and offered it to the scout, holding his breath in hopes that the Finn was familiar with clocks and could tell time. The younger man studied it, reached out, pointed to the 1:00 marking. “Okay,” Mikkel told him, and turned to the others. “He only needs two or three more hours to resolve whatever is causing him this distress.”

“That's too long!” Sigrun objected. “We're not waiting! Two hours will be the difference between us making camp in a safe spot or in the middle of a troll nest.”

“We can allow him to stay, and let him follow our tracks.”

“Again: I'm not leaving the scout on his own if I can't make sure he understands orders.”

“I'll stay with him,” Emil volunteered nervously, “We'll catch up with you fast.”

“They will,” Mikkel agreed, “we won't be moving very fast.”

There was a long silence, and then Sigrun nodded. “Fine. But I still don't agree.”

“I'll leave you a map and something to eat,” Mikkel advised Emil. The two older people collected Reynir and the kitten from the tank and departed, Mikkel pushing the wheelbarrow, heavily laden with all their gear and the most valuable books.

Reynir turned back to wave goodbye. Mikkel did not.


End file.
